


My Love is Like a Red, Red Rash

by phoenyxhawke



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Drinking, Established Relationship, F/F, Gambling, Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-05
Updated: 2015-04-05
Packaged: 2018-03-21 08:50:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3685938
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phoenyxhawke/pseuds/phoenyxhawke
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Isabela isn't falling in love with Hawke. Not her. Never.</p>
            </blockquote>





	My Love is Like a Red, Red Rash

**Author's Note:**

  * For [phobetor](https://archiveofourown.org/users/phobetor/gifts).



> Title is a play on ["A Red, Red Rose" by Robert Burns](http://www.poetsgraves.co.uk/Classic%20Poems/Burns/a_red,_red_rose.htm)

It was a well-known fact that the Hanged Man always smelled like piss and vomit. Today, Isabela detected a hint of something else. She held up an arm and took a whiff of her clothes. That wasn’t it, but they definitely needed a wash. She wrinkled her nose at the fetid air.

"Is that wet dog?" she asked.

Corff shrugged and rubbed at a stain on the bar. It was a part of the wood now. She didn't know why he bothered.

"I don't smell anything," he said.

"Of course not," Isabela said.

"Want some stew?” Corff plunked a heaping pot of brown liquid on the bar in front of her. “Half off. Tonight only.”

Isabela eyed the lukewarm concoction. Maybe that was where the smell was coming from. It was entirely possible since Corff never revealed what he put in there. Squinting suspiciously, she lowered her face toward the pot. When her nose was inches from the skin-like layer floating atop the liquid, it barked at her. Isabela jumped backward.

The door swung open, and Hawke strolled in with her mabari at her side.

“Oh,” Isabela said, relaxing, but feeling more than a little foolish.

“Hawke!” Varric waved from his table.

Across from Varric sat Anders, who turned and smiled at her arrival. She had that effect on people. Whether they loved her or hated her, no one ever ignored Hawke.

“Sorry I’m late. Dog had a lot of nasty thugs to chew on. Didn't you?” Hawke said.

Hawke smooshed Dog’s face affectionately. Dog wagged his tail and gave a toothy grin. Isabela could swear she saw blood dripping from his fangs, which was not an unusual sight where the war dog was concerned.

“Go say hello to our favorite pirate, boy,” Hawke said.

The slobbery beast bounded toward Isabela. Why Hawke insisted on trying to make her friends with the thing, she'd never understand. Knowing he wouldn't leave her alone until she did, Isabela gave Dog a hesitant pat on the head.

“There. Now go away,” Isabela said.

Hawke pulled out a splinter-infested chair at Varric’s table. On her back, clearly visible, was a mage’s staff. Isabela eyed the carving of the naked lady that topped it. She liked that staff. She called it the ‘Staff of Ravishing Nights’. (‘Shaft of Rampant Orgasms’ was rejected). It had been Hawke’s father’s. It was the strangest family heirloom she’d ever heard of.

“Isabela, should I deal you in?” Hawke asked.

“Not right now,” Isabela said.

Hawke shrugged, took the deck of cards in hand, and began to shuffle. Her eyes were striking even from a distance. Her eyes were like the sea, Isabela thought, fathomless depths below the surf, at times placid and clear as a cloudless sky, at others stormy and tumultuous. Isabela stopped herself right there, aghast at what just happened. Was she composing poetry? About Hawke?

"Oh no. No no no. This isn't happening. What's that thing Aveline's always saying?" Isabela lowered her voice, squared her shoulders, and said in her best Lady Manhands, "I deny you!"

"Talking to your cup again, Rivaini? It starts talking back, you come get me, so I can record everything you say," Varric said.

Isabela hadn't noticed Varric come over, but there he was, smiling up at her, chest-hair waving in the breeze. She looked at him sidelong.

“Hello, Varric,” Isabela said, as if she wasn't just talking to herself.

“Why don’t you join us? You’re not still feeling bad about stabbing Hawke in the back and starting a fight with the qunari, are you? Because you know, she already forgave you for that,” Varric said.

He gave her a pat on the back with his hairy ham-hands.

“What? No. I’m over it. I just don’t…” Isabela shrugged her shoulders back. "Feel like it tonight.”

She spun around and propped her elbows against the bar. She had a clear view of Hawke as the mage dealt each player’s hand. Hawke was thin and small of frame. Isabela could probably snap her in half with her thighs, but that hardly mattered. Strapping sailors were a dime a dozen. Women like Hawke were rare jewels.

"Ohhh, I get it,” Varric said.

"Get what?" Isabela frowned and averted her eyes.

"That look. The moon eyes, the sighs, the blushing cheeks.”

"I don't know what you’re talking about.”

She slammed her cup down and waved Corff over for a refill.

“You can lie to yourself if you want, but I’m a storyteller. I see all. And you? You’re falling for Hawke,” Varric said.

Isabela glared into her mug. “This is all her fault.”

Varric rubbed his stubbly chin and examined Hawke from afar. She was picking dirt out from under her fingernails.

“You could do worse. A lot worse,” Varric said.

“You’re so full of it. You love Hawke more than anyone,” Isabela said.

“Now you’re making me blush.”

Isabela's smile vanished quickly.

“I just want it to stop, but I don’t know how. Love is like a rash. The more you ignore it, the more it spreads.”

"Spoken like a true romantic,” Varric laughed.

"If it's romance you want, talk to the Walking Fortress at the barracks. I don't need it."

Isabela scratched at a carving of her name she graffitied into the bar years ago.

"If you say so. Don’t be a stranger,” Varric shrugged.

Four mugs in hand, he returned to his friends. He stood at the end of their table and expertly slid each ale down to its recipient. Not even a drop of the golden liquid spilled, despite the bumps and knots in the wooden surface.

“You’re giving my dog alcohol?” Hawke asked.

Dog’s ears perked up.

“Relax. It’s just water,” Varric said.

Dog stuck his tongue in the mug in front of him and deflated.

“Good. I need you sober. Otherwise I’m not sure I’ll remember how to get home,” Hawke said.

Isabela chuckled. She caught a glimpse of her reflection in the rusty old piece of shit behind the bar that passed for a mirror. There she was resting her cheek on her hand, mooning exactly as Varric described it. She scowled at herself and straightened out.

This was stupid. What was so great about Hawke, anyway? She let her friends walk all over her. She was always in trouble, and she had a fondness for bad jokes. She kept telling them even when no one laughed.

_‘I’m hilarious. People should pay me to hear jokes like these,’ Hawke liked to say._

Isabela rolled her eyes. That’s right. There was nothing great about Hawke. She just danced through life having no idea what she meant to other people. How the things she said changed them forever.

“Come on, Isabela, last hand,” Hawke waved her over.

Isabela froze in Hawke's gaze. It wasn't as if Hawke could read her mind. Mages couldn't do that, could they?

“You have to play. You’re not going to let Hawke win every round, are you?” Varric said.

“Fine. Deal me in,” Isabela relented.

Anders made room on the bench for her to slide in next to him.

“Okay, last game. Sudden death. Winner take all,” Varric said.

“I don’t see how this benefits me, seeing as I won all the coin,” Hawke said.

“Then let’s not play for gold. How about we play for secrets?" Varric offered.

Isabela shot him a glare. He grinned around a sip of ale.

"Oh, that does sound like fun," Hawke said.

"Does Hawke really have any secrets left?" Isabela quirked an eyebrow.

“You have told everyone pretty much everything there is to know,” Anders said.

They both looked pointedly at Varric.

“That's not true. I never told you about the time --” Varric began.

“Oh, I’m sure I could drum something up. If I lose,” Hawke said.

“When you lose,” Isabela said, grasping for the deck.

Varric scooped the cards right out from under her hand.

“Ah ah, sorry Isabela, everyone knows you stack the deck.”

Hawke, Anders, and Dog all nodded in agreement. Even Isabela knew she had no room to argue.

“Have it your way,” Isabela sat back in her chair with her arms crossed.

“For secrets, then. Losers tell the winner one secret of their choosing. To be fair, if you fold, you don't have to say anything. And sorry, Dog, but you’ll have to sit this one out. We already know all about your secret love for the DeLauncet poodle,” Varric said.

The deck danced and flipped in Varric's hands until it was thoroughly shuffled. He dealt the cards, and the game was on. The first few rounds went swiftly. Varric placed his hand face down and scooted back from the table first. Anders was the next to fold. It all came down to Hawke and Isabela. Isabela sweated it out, while Hawke sat there with a smile and nothing to lose.

Varric drummed his fingers on the table and whistled dramatically.

"Varric," Isabela warned.

"What? It's mood music," he said.

Varric caught Anders' eye and jerked his head slightly toward Isabela. Isabela glanced at the dwarf warily. Suddenly, something wet and cold splashed against her chest. Anders’ mug clattered to the floor, leaving its alcoholic contents all over her.

“Sorry. Sorry. Clumsy,” Anders said.

The half-sloshed guards at the next table over laughed, raised their mugs, and cheered. Ale soaked through the heavy fabric of Isabela's shirt and slithered down her cleavage. The Hanged Man, of course, had no napkins.

“I’ll get you something to clean it up,” Anders said.

He flagged down Corff as he hurried to the bar. At least it wasn't exactly a waste. The swill at the Hanged Man was barely fit to clean the floors. Anders returned with a food encrusted rag.

“Not really sure if this is better,” he said.

He made a face at the nasty rag, but Isabela took it from him and sopped up as much ale as she could.

“I've had worse things all over me,” Isabela said.

A golden stain spread across her shirt. She dabbed at it, but without a good scrubbing (and maybe even with one), the ale had no chance of coming out. She tossed the rag aside.

“Maybe we should just call it,” Isabela sighed.

“Chickening out right before the end?” Varric said.

Glancing around the table, Isabela became distinctly suspicious. All three of them smiled at her. She knew those shit-eating grins. She wore the same every now and again. That spill was no accident.

“Ready?” Hawke said.

“Fine,” Isabela said.

They both laid all of their cards on the table. Hawke’s hand was, of course, far better.

“I win,” Hawke said.

She leaned back in her chair with a satisfied smirk. Isabela scowled at Varric.

"Someone cheated," she said.

At least he had the decency to look offended.

"Are you upset that someone cheated or that it wasn't you?" Anders asked.

“And _you_ owe me a new shirt,” Isabela said.

“Why not. I’ll get you some pants while I’m at it,” Anders grinned.

"Lay off, Rivaini. We finally got Anders to come out instead of that creepy guy," Varric said.

"We're the same -- oh why do I bother," Anders said, shaking his head.

Hawke leaned on her staff to stand. She turned to Isabela, smiled, and waggled her eyebrows.

"Let's go back to my place, so I can uncover your deep, dark secret," Hawke said.

“Is it really a secret anymore if half of Thedas has seen it?” Anders asked.

Isabela glared at Anders. How upset would Hawke be, really, if a certain mage from Darktown woke up with a dagger in his back?

Hawke led Isabela away, and Isabela was happy to follow.

 

Lying naked in Hawke’s bed, Isabela tried to think of how this whole falling for Hawke thing started. It wasn't so much the sex. That was always the same. Not the same, exactly, but there were no uncomfortable feelings. It was the staying after. At first it was just more convenient after their marathons that ended too late for her to stumble back to the Hanged Man. Then it became a habit. That habit became routine. She'd always hated routine.

Hawke’s eyes were closed, but Isabela knew she wasn't really asleep. Bloody hell, she could tell the difference – the intimate ins and outs of Hawke’s breath. She had to get out of there. Just as she was about to get up, Hawke’s voice stopped her in place.

"So, ready to tell me that secret?" she said.

"I was hoping you'd forget," Isabela mumbled. “Can’t we just count the sex as your winnings?”

Hawke rolled over to face her.

“You’re really not going to pay up? If it makes you feel any better, I promise I won’t tell anyone.”

"I know that, you goose. I just -- ”

“You just?” Hawke prompted, raising her eyebrows dramatically.

Isabela bit her lip. Would it be so bad to tell her now? To lie here, all exposed, and just let it all hang out?

“You… are one of the best lovers I have ever had," she said, resolutely.

"That's not much of a secret. I figured I at least ranked in the top ten when you kept coming back.”

Isabela shoved a pillow in Hawke’s smug face.

"Then I take it back. I'm just here for the cinnamon buns. The ones that Bodahn makes in the morning.”

"They are rather good.”

Isabela got up and picked her underclothes off their precarious perch on the mantel. She waded into them and went searching for the rest of her garments. Hawke’s eyes followed her around the room.

"Leaving?" Hawke said.

“I...” Isabela paused.

Hawke never asked her to stay anymore. After that first talk about love and all of that other nonsense, she never brought it up again. She was good like that, Hawke. Never pushed her. Isabela wished that, once in awhile, she wouldn't be so damned respectful.

“I should go," Isabela said.

She scooped her shirt up off the plush rug. Sighing at the giant piss-yellow stain that smelled of ale, she questioned, not for the first time, her decision to always wear white. She slung her top over her shoulder and continued her quest to obtain her bra.

"Be careful on your way back," Hawke murmured sleepily.

"If I let roving bands of bloodthirsty miscreants stop me, I'd never go anywhere and neither would you," Isabela said.

"Good point.”

Isabela fretted about the room, cursing to herself. Hawke pointed up, and Isabela followed her finger to the top of her wardrobe. There, hanging from a decorative spike, was an enormous lacy bra. Forced to stand on her tiptoes, Isabela tried to yank the thing down, but it was too high. Her first instinct was to jump for it, but after three tries, she gave up. Hawke, leaning on one elbow, watched her and smirked.

“You did this on purpose,” Isabela said.

“Only because I couldn't get it to land on the chandelier,” Hawke said.

With a yawn and a stretch, Hawke rolled onto her back. Isabela sulked up at her bra then over at Hawke. She hated to admit it, but for all of her talk about character, the Amell Estate was much nicer than the Hanged Man. Here there was no unpleasant smell, (relatively) clean sheets, an inviting fire. Besides, the Hanged Man was so far away, and…

"On second thought, they’ll be having leftover stew for breakfast at the Hanged Man. I think there’s dog in it," Isabela said.

She abandoned her shirt and bra and crawled back under the covers.

“Ways you can tell you aren't in Ferelden anymore,” Hawke said.

Isabela settled her head underneath Hawke’s chin. Hawke welcomed her there with open arms. It would be all right like this for just one night. This didn’t have to mean anything. But Isabela knew, deep down, that for her, it did. One day she’d have to face it. Face Hawke and the chance that she might be rejected. Not tonight, though. Tonight she could just lie here and pretend she was only staying to avoid dog soup. Isabela listened to the gentle rise and fall of Hawke’s breath, closed her eyes, and smiled.


End file.
